The Riddle of Sins
by Topgallant
Summary: Tom Riddle's thoughts on the Seven Deadly sins.
1. Envy

Envy was a curious thing.

He was the object of it, yet the jealousy was not mutual. Riddle did not envy, for he already had all that he needed and craved for. Of course he desired the coveted job of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but that was only to be postponed until his graduation.

He could wait.

His_ friends_ often quarreled about a great many number of things that they didn't seem to realize was achievable with ambition and wits, -which they lacked-.

In those instances, Riddle would calmly remain detached and observed calculatingly until the dispute subsided or at least became under manageable control.

Many students, -Slytherins included- often cast Riddle glances of the utmost loathing and disgust. It did not bother him for he knew that they all hated what they could not have. So, as an answer to their unspoken challenges, the astute Riddle would offer them a casual smirk and occasionally a hex.

He remained unchallenged and was very careful to keep it that way.

Envy was acceptable to Tom for he had none.


	2. Wrath

He had felt wrath before.

The gnawing, biting feeling that drove and powered him. He was sent into a rage none too few times before, but even the white hot anger that boiled inside him was suppressed out the outside, his face as blank and impassive as always. What good would he do him to lose himself in anger over a trivial argument spurred by his lackeys?

The obsequious dopes often infuriated him with their constant bellowing, crude manners and empty heads. Still, they were useful and served many purposes.

_Many purposes_ as he'd find out in years to come.

But it was not always his posse that raised his ire.

His family was first and foremost on the list, even though he'd made sure to take care of that affliction long ago. It began with his muggle father, who cursed Riddle with his name and half-blood. Then his mother followed, for no descendant of the noble Salazar Slytherin should be that simpering and useless.

His family drove him to a rage every time he chanced to think upon them, which was infrequent. But at the same moment, a slow smile would creep upon his handsome face, tugging at the corners of his mouth until it became a leering sneer of contempt.

Wrath, -though always controlled- was acceptable to Riddle.

Cherished, even.


	3. Lust

Lust.

Riddle heard of the word before.

Of the cravings and longings of flesh, of the sinuous and sensual lover who often remained in their bed for little more than a day.

It never interested him.

He found the idea despicable, not out of any piety or modesty, but for the simple fact he thought it a waste of time. Why spend your day, -life, even- with another who will only deprive you of your ambition and time, only to suck your fortune away in one fell swoop?

Certainly, it could be pleasurable, but why bother when you had other things to do? As Riddle grew older he found little admiration for the opposite sex even while it attracted the males around him. They found him odd, in that sense, and often sniggered about him being queer. Of course such fools never considered that perhaps he was asexual.

If they even knew the meaning, that is.

He thought of making love only once; to reproduce an heir to Slytherin.

To keep the line.

All thoughts beyond that evaporated.

Riddle savored the idea of annihilating the mother once she had given birth.

She would be pureblood of course.

So as he would bury himself in his books, the members of his group often satiated themselves with a woman that piqued their interested.

Lust was useless and futile.

Love was fake.


	4. Sloth

There have been days where even Tom Marvolo Riddle lingered in sloth.

Those moments he spent in blissful oblivion, often idly biding his time uselessly lounging in the common room or courtyard. He was loathe to admit it, but he enjoyed at least one date where he needn't worry about anything or anyone.

Nonetheless, after the day had worn down to the last few hours, wherever he would be, Riddle would regret his own frivolity. But after it had all passed, there was naught he could do about it. Oh yes, he had acquired a time-turner over his span of years, but what was the point if he was going to relive the day the same way again?

He was the only motivated, striving member of his group, and was so unused to sloth. He had no time for it; he would let his subordinates do that. Riddle had counted the days he wasted, and he grimly accepted the count of five with a wry smile and crossed arms. His posse encouraged his occasional withdrawal from reality, but when they suggested such a blasphemous action they were only met with a scowl.

Sloth, -though he was sometimes affected by it- was a disease.

Not acceptable.


	5. Gluttony

Food was a necessity, and Riddle treated it as such.

Though it was unnecessary, a tasteful cuisine was an enjoyment in his life. He did not approve of the crude obsession with fodder that his friends seemed to have acquired early in life, but a healthy interest would do him no harm.

Riddle admired the decadent chocolates, scrumptious caramels and assorted sweets that adorned the table every Halloween, and the delightfully prepared meals that preceded them.

He savored the tart juices of tender chicken breast, and took great care in chewing each bite. He liked combining different platters to his pleasure, experiencing new tastes and feelings every time. Though he strayed from foreign spices, Riddle would not worry about trying new recipes.

Although he was denied the rich pleasure of wine in his youth, after his graduation from Hogwarts, Riddle quickly earned an affinity for the sweet aroma. He tried different variations and learned the art of truly enjoying the nectar.

He found he was disappointed when presented with food that was un-artful or otherwise un-flavorful. Riddle discovered that he developed a fastidious dedication to food.

Gluttonous was far from describing him, but, -when phrased carefully-, it could apply.

Delicate gluttony was acceptable.


	6. Pride

He was full of pride, and he made certain he was not to be upstaged.

If that was possible, he would often think with a sniff.

He found, -to his dismay- that the babbling, incoherent fools around him had no dignity or wits. Of course, he held an advantage, and thus didn't comment or follow the matter any further. Gryffindors were particularly opaque, and no one should bother taking the time fraternizing with them.

Riddle prided himself on his parseltongue ability, and more specifically how he inherited that, though he kept it a personal secret and refused deigning to tell _anyone_ about it.

Gifted in many ways, he was an excellent student and ravenous, fervent learner. He did not dwell on how so, however, as he would only waste precious time rambling to himself how he was superb. Riddle already knew his qualities and did not hesitate to use them.

_All_ of them.

More than once, after he preformed yet another amazing feat of some nature or the other, both Slytherins and Gryffindors alike would gawk, wide eyed at his perfidious achievement. Already he could imagine the spectators lying prostrate before his feet.

A vision of the future, one could say.

He was a prodigy, an enigma.

He was punctual, charming, handsome, talented, and young.

Even ruthless.

And he knew it.

Pride, -those sometimes prone to underestimate your foes-, was acceptable.


	7. Greed

Life was a brief dash for survival, and it pitted everything against you.

Countless wizards and witches, –and even more muggles- died without a name in the world.

They died, -fortunately-, with no one knowing any knowledge of their even existing, save for their few, close companions.

Riddle vowed he would make himself known, whatever the cost.

He would not die in an unmarked grave with his father's name the last words he screamed as he lay dying. In fact, he did not intend to die at all.

Riddle spent years at Hogwarts collecting more than just the average curriculum books. He gathered vast amounts, storing them all in a special trunk he cherished. He hexed anyone who was rash enough to even _touch_ his belongings, many of which were volumes of immortals or how to gain eternal life.

Once,-at the orphanage he had come to hate-, a girl swiped one of his precious books. Swiftly, he found where she stashed it and, apologizing, the girl brought the situation to the matron. Riddle forgave the girl, and wished to show her something in private.

She never spoke again, and a hollow, detached…_dead_ look replaced where the soul once was in her eyes.

He was greedy of course, but that didn't bother him nearly as much as if anyone _else_ was greedy. Riddle made a point that no one was to touch his belongings.

Ever.

Greed was not an option.


End file.
